Behind these two came a tall, very good-looking young man, athletic in build, with strong, eager features, a bronzed complexion, a general air of brisk and confident authority. He had not at all the appearance of the traditional family lawyer. But it might come to that in time, for he was still much the youngest partner in the old established firm of Wells, Clinton, Wells and Blacklock that for many years had been in charge of all the legal side of the Hoyle estates, and he would certainly not have been here to-day but for the accident that the senior partner, Mr. Blacklock, was ill, and the second partner, another Blacklock, was away on holiday. So this young man, Clinton Wells, combining in himself the original Clinton and Wells strains, found himself in full charge. Gossip whispered that he was an ambitious young man, showing no signs of settling down as a country solicitor, and even entertaining political aspirations. It was reported he had been heard to say that what a little Welsh lawyer could do, a solicitor from the Midlands could do, too. More ill-natured gossip remarked that he had the pale-blue eyes of the Hoyle family, and hinted that a certain unavowed mixing, outside legal bonds, of Hoyle and Clinton blood a generation or two back, accounted for the favour with which old Earl Wych always seemed to regard the young man. But these were only whispers none dared repeat aloud, whispers without a shred of proved foundation. True, there were always those clear, rather pale-blue eyes characteristic in the Hoyle family, showing, for example, both in Anne and in Ralph, though in Ralph’s case the blue often seemed to be a grey, so that Sophy, at least, was never quite sure whether they were really blue or really grey.
There advanced slowly the little group—the tall, commanding looking old man; the nervous young man; the handsome, youthful lawyer, looking as distinguished in his way as did the old earl himself. The group by the tea table were all on their feet now. Arthur had an air of complete bewilderment. Ralph waited, utterly expressionless. Anne gave the impression of holding herself in check, of being ready to spring at any moment, of a coiled-up spring indeed that the smallest touch might release. To Sophy’s mind the comparison between this advance of the three men with the advance of soldiers upon a firmly held position, grew still stronger. She became suddenly afraid. In a clear, loud voice, with little in it of the frequent shrillness of old age, Earl Wych said:—
“This is my grandson, Bertram, we all believed dead so long. I am sure you will welcome him. At first I failed to recognize him, but now I am convinced of his identity.”
Published by Dean Street Press 2015
Copyright © 1940 E.R. Punshon
Introduction Copyright © 2015 Curtis Evans
All Rights Reserved
This ebook is published by licence, issued under the UK Orphan Works Licensing Scheme.
First published in 1940 by Victor Gollancz
Cover by DSP
ISBN 978 1 910570 93 7
www.deanstreetpress.co.uk
Four Strange Women Page 31
